


Misconceptions

by Severina



Series: The Condemnedverse [4]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse, Post Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:30:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You might say my brother was a corruptin' influence."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misconceptions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's tamingthemuse community, for the prompt 'corrupt'. Post Season Two.
> 
> * * *

The day's come on hot as hell, just like he predicted, the heat rising off the asphalt in shimmering ghost waves in the distance. So at first Daryl thinks that what he's seeing is just a damn heat mirage, wishful thinking brought on by their close call. He squints, blinks away the sweat trickling into his eyes. But the squat little building's still there, nestled in behind a dilapidated strip mall that had seen better days even before the world went straight down the shitter. They sure as fuck ain't got no need for the stock in Ana's Nail Emporium, and while he wouldn't exactly turn down a couple of skin mags from the XXX Adult Video, at this point he thinks he'd go without touching himself for a fucking year if there turns out to be anything salvageable in the place Glenn's eagle eye spotted.

The lettering on the sign is faded, but "Andy's Wilderness Haven" is still barely legible.

"The hell," he breathes out. 

"I know, right?" Glenn is bouncing on his feet, practically dancing in place, grinning from ear to ear. "I spotted it from the car… well, I thought I spotted it, but I wasn't sure, because I was driving, so I didn't want to say anything until I could check it out."

Daryl squints down at the store. The place is bigger than would be expected for some of the podunk 'burgs they been traveling through. This could be good, really good… if nobody else got to it first. He swipes a hand over his chin, eyes the kid. "Ain't exactly gonna be stockin' no Snickers bars."

Glenn laughs. "So I _maybe_ gave people the wrong impression last night." When Daryl arches a brow, Glen waves a hand in the air. "Okay, so we can duck into the variety store on the way out and see if there really is any chocolate. It'd make Carl happy anyway. But this place, it could be a gold mine! We had to leave so much of our stuff behind after…"

The kid trails off, the smile fading. 

Daryl sets back on his haunches, scouts out the lay of the land. He doesn't have to look to know that Glenn is worryin' his damn lip the way he does when he's upset, or that he's staring down at his hands like the secret of the universe is etched in his palms. Kid should be ecstatic about this find, he fucking deserves that.

But every damn thing is tainted now, split into those befores and afters. Before the attack on the farm, after they lost Andrea and Herschel's people. Before, when Glenn thought he was safe, thought he could settle down with a pretty little thing and--- and after, when he realized he wasn't. Daryl could've told him there was no fucking safety, not now. It was a fool's game, thinkin' that a goddamn swamp or some chest high fences were gonna keep out the dead. Daryl could've told him that the dead don't ever stop walking.

Daryl could've told him that just because you want something doesn't mean you get to have it.

"Good eye," he says instead.

He claps Glenn on the shoulder, squeezes hard enough to get the kid to look up. Pretends he doesn't see the shine in his eyes, because they got enough to deal with without getting bogged down in sentimental _those we left behind_ bullshit and the kid's gotta goddamn well focus on what's important here. 

"Thanks," Glenn says softly. His lips upturn just a little, tentative, and Daryl watches until the kid lifts a hand to shade his eyes, stares down at the store. "There should be tents and blankets, lanterns, maybe walkies. Camping stoves, god maybe even that dehydrated food, which I'm sure totally tastes like shit but at this point who's picky, right? And… and I was thinking maybe some arrows, you know, for your crossbow? I know you've been making your own, but they're probably not properly weighted, or—"

Right. The kid is back.

"You gonna keep yappin' or are we movin'?"

* * *

They're halfway across the pockmarked parking lot before the single walker stumbles out from behind the dumpster. It's down before it even knows they're there.

Daryl retrieves the arrow while Glenn scouts out the back of the strip mall, is wiping the worst of the gore off on his pants leg when the kid reports that there's nothing else moving, living or dead. Only then does he turn his focus to the wilderness shop itself. 

Glenn's eyes follow his, and he sees the kid's shoulders slump. "Padlocked? Fuck. Are you kidding me? Maaaan, we cannot catch a break."

Daryl slants him a glance, huffs out a breath. "The fuck you whinin' for? Padlocked means nobody's been here, dumbfuck."

"Yeah, well padlocked also means we aren't getting in either, unless you happen to carry bolt cutters around as a matter of course."

"Don't need 'em," Daryl says. He digs into his pocket and pulls out something better, smirks when Glenn's mouth drops open.

"You have lockpicking tools? Seriously?"

Daryl shrugs. "I got a lot of shit."

"Sure," Glenn says. "Okay." 

Daryl bends to one knee and sets to work, tries to ignore the way that Glenn's voice hitched and hesitated just a little on that first word, is sure he's just imagining that the kid has taken a step away from him, like he's trying to put some distance between himself and the goddamn criminal. 

"Just keep your goddamn eyes open," he says gruffly. "Ain't gettin' chomped by some walker while I'm doin' your job and gettin' us into this damn place."

He sees Glenn nod shortly and turn his back to scan the deserted parking lot before he goes back to working with the pick. He tries to concentrate. The sun's baking the back of his neck, sweat dripping into his eyes so he can't see, and he swipes a wrist over his forehead, wipes a sweaty palm onto his shirt and gets a better grip on the lock. Bites the inside of his lip and-- 

\-- and he ain't never given a shit about what anybody thought of him. He always figured they were gonna just think the worst anyway so he might as well live down to their expectations. The kid ain't no different. He doesn't fucking care what Glenn thinks.

So no one is more surprised than Daryl when his mouth opens and he mutters, "Merle's."

"What?"

The kid's stopped his swivel-head-ing of the lot, is looking down at him with brow furrowed, lips pursed. Daryl sighs, lets the padlock drop from his fingers. "Did some time for B&E, back in '99. Showed me a little of it. Not goddamn enough." He spits to the side, glares at the padlock disgustedly. "This lock's a fucking bitch."

"Merle's," Glenn repeats. And maybe Daryl is imagining that the kid looks relieved by this little bit of intel, and maybe he should be pissed about that. But he just feels his own kind of relief. 

"You might say my brother was a corruptin' influence," he adds.

"Oh, I might say a lot of things," Glenn says absently. He cocks his head, juts his chin at the lock. "You want me to try?"

"Nah, I got it," Daryl says. He picks up the lock again, cradles it in his palm and scowls at it before looking up at the kid. "You mind moving your ass, Chairman Mao? You're in my light."

The only thing that moves on the kid is his goddamn lips. "Could you at least call me by the name of a famous Korean? Is that too much to ask?"

"Ain't no famous Koreans."

"What? Are you serious? How about David Choe, Daniel Dae-Kim, Choo Shin-Soo. Hell, Sun Myung Moon."

Daryl snorts. "Like I said, Jackie Chan. Ain't no famous Koreans."

It takes him ten minutes and a running commentary of at least fifty more people that ain't even remotely famous before he successfully picks the lock.


End file.
